


Ghost of Fortunato

by serenityabrin



Category: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7629961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/pseuds/serenityabrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Allan Quatermain has returned from the dead, he's not exactly whole.  Fixing that is going to have to wait as the League is hunting for a deadly Prince intent on using a plague to wipe out everyone in Europe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of Fortunato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Escher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escher/gifts).



"Pardon me, Mr. Quatermain."

 

Allan looked up to see one of Nemo's crewmen hovering in the doorway.  He waited.

 

The crewman hesitated before saying, "The Captain asks that you join him.  We've arrived and will be docking momentarily."

 

The man did not wait for Allan's response, but quickly left.  Allan had noted a general uneasiness from the crew since his return.  He would call it superstitious but given what happened, he couldn't say that a little wariness wasn't warranted.

 

Shrugging into his coat and grabbing his gun, Allan headed towards the ship's exit.  He'd only gone a few feet when Dr. Jekyll appeared from an adjoining hallway.

 

"Ah, I see you've been summoned too.  Do you think there's been any new word from Sawyer?"

 

The two fell into step.  It was a conscious effort for Allan to respond.  "At this point, anything Sawyer needs to tell us can be told in person."

 

Jekyll nodded.  The air grew strained between them, but Allan only felt it distantly.  Beginning to fidget, Jekyll remained silent for the length of the corridor before it appeared he couldn't stand the atmosphere any longer.

 

"Sawyer's in for quite the surprise when he sees you're back."  Jekyll offered an awkward smile.  "I imagine he'll look like he's seen a ghost."

 

It was meant as a joke but Allan did not react.  Perhaps feeling he'd hit too close to home, Jekyll coughed slightly and looked away.

 

He looked ridiculously relieved when he saw Harker and Nemo awaiting them by the large bay door.  Allan nodded to them.

 

"My lookouts spotted Sawyer and Skinner on the dock.  We should be surfacing momentarily," Nemo said.

 

Jekyll looked surprised.  "I didn't think Skinner would have gotten here so fast."

 

"I fear that our efforts to save the victims in France took longer than we realized," Harker said, making a face.  "Let's hope things go better here."

 

Around them the Nautilus shivered and vibrated as she breached the surface at speed.  Allan could feel the slight pressure pressing him into the floor.  It was only a matter of seconds before the shuddering stopped and the vessel settled into a complete stop.

 

Nemo's crewmen pulled the wheels on either side of the exit.  There was a hiss at the vacuum seal broke and then a scraping noise as the massive door was pulled back and out of the way.  At the same time, a ramp slid down towards the dock below them.  Allan could see the two waiting figures standing as close as was safe.

 

Sawyer didn't wait for the ramp to settle.  As soon as it was close enough, he jumped up and strode quickly into the bay.

 

"I thought you guys would never get h-" Sawyer paused mid-sentence when his eyes swept over them and caught Allan.

 

"See, I wasn't lying," Skinner said, following at a more leisurely pace.  "Allan Quatermain, back from the dead."

 

"How . . .?" Sawyer took a step toward Allan but then paused, looking undecided.

 

"Explanations will have to wait," Nemo said.  "You said you discovered the Prince's location and plans for another attack.  Have you learned anything more since your last communication?"

 

Dragging his attention back to Nemo, Sawyer said, "Um, yeah.  Yeah.  Skinner managed to get into the factory and I followed the Prince's second-in-command to an abbey outside of town.  There was a box waiting for him outside the main doors.  I think it might've been more of the plague."

 

"You think the abbey could be where the Prince is located?" Nemo said, signaling for Sawyer and the others to follow him to their briefing room.

 

"Well . . . I'm not sure.  The abbey . . . it's weird."

 

"Weird how?" Jekyll asked as they all filed into the briefing room.

 

Sawyer glanced at Allan.  "The place is huge and surrounded by a giant wall.  I looked all around and there are only two entrances: a huge door and a service entrance.  They're both welded shut and look like they've been that way for years.  I staked out the place but didn't see so much as a light in a window.  If the Prince's man hadn't gone there, I would've sworn it was completely abandoned.  There's no one around for miles."

 

"So, a drop-off point," Nemo surmised.

 

"Possibly not," Harker said.  "We still have not found the Prince's laboratory.  He has to have tested the plague somewhere, and if we don't find him and his laboratory, then it doesn't matter how many factories we destroy.  He'll just open up a new one."

 

"That's right." Jekyll had settled into a chair and now leaned forward.  "We still need to develop a cure.  If the Prince really does intend to unleash this all over Europe, we're going to need to inoculate the public and quickly.  We need notes or a sample or something to figure out what the plague is before we can figure out how to treat it, let alone stop it."

 

"You think that stuff will be at the abbey?" Sawyer sounded skeptical.

 

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to look.  Not unless you have come across a more likely place for the Prince's laboratory," Harker said.

 

Nemo seemed to share Sawyer's skepticism.  "Why not in the factory?  The correspondence Sawyer found in Spain was written in Italian.  We are in Italy.  This could be his first and primary factory.  What more likely place to house his laboratory?"  Nemo turned to Skinner.  "What did you find?"

 

"This Prince seems to enjoy a touch of the theatrical. The factory's in an ancient prison outside of town--"

 

"On the other side from the abbey," Sawyer cut in.

 

Skinner nodded.  "It's filled with nooks and crannies and falling apart.  Even invisible, it was quite an ordeal to keep from giving myself away.  Once I slipped in, though, I found that the prison proper had been remade into dozens of rooms, each one filled with workers and equipment.  I don't know one end of a test tube from another but there were huge vats filled with bubbling liquid.  If that's not the plague, I'll eat my hat.  All the workers were bundled up in protective gear too.  Made me feel more undressed than usual."

 

"That sounds like the factories we encountered in Spain and France," Jekyll said.

 

Skinner's painted face was hard to read but it appeared that he grimaced.  "Yeah, but at least twice as big.  Maybe more."

 

"Then it does sound like this is the heart of the enterprise," Nemo said.  "We will find the lab and the Prince there."

 

"I'm not so sure about that last bit," Sawyer said.  "Those thugs I interrogated in Spain said they never saw the Prince, and I've staked out the village, abbey, and factory.  There hasn't been any activity that someone like the Prince would generate.  It's all lackeys and head-lackeys as far as I can see."

 

"Much as it pains me to agree," Skinner said, "Sawyer is right.  I crawled all through the factory here and listened in on all the conversations I could.  I might not know Italian but I could pick out 'Prince' easily enough.  He was talked about a great deal but there was no one fitting that bill."

 

Jekyll looked at Nemo.  "Perhaps your hypothesis that there is no Prince is correct.  It could be a misdirect to divert their enemies into looking for a figurehead that does not exist."

 

"Well, someone has to have come up with this abominable disease," Harker said.  "And someone must be in charge.  I'm sure he's no actual prince, but he's the leader all the same.  Even if we find his notes and laboratory in the factory, the knowledge is still in his head.  We must find him."

 

"I agree," Jekyll nodded.

 

"Attacking the factory when he's not there will give him all the head start he needs," Skinner said.  "There's no way we can take it out and the village nearby won't know."

 

Shaking his head, Nemo said, "He could be anywhere.  We can't wait until we have firm intelligence on his whereabouts.  The disease can kill within half an hour.  If it's let loose, the death toll will be massive.  I don't think we can contain it as we did in France.  The village here is much too large.  And if we can't contain it . . ."

 

Nemo let the ominous implication hang in the air.

 

"Yes, we cannot wait," Harker said after a moment.  "But I do think that it would benefit us to send someone to Sawyer's abbey.  This is the first we've seen of the Prince's people communicating with an outside source.  We have yet to determine how the Prince is organizing his operation.  If there's anything in the abbey that would shed light on that, we should prioritize it.  Otherwise, we're just putting out fires without shutting off the gas."

 

"There's no way in though," Sawyer said.  "You'd have to blow open the doors.  Even if it was where the Prince set up shop initially, what could be left worth knowing?  It's certainly not going anywhere."

 

"Blowing doors would not be a problem."  Nemo stroked his beard.  "But you are right that there's no rush."

 

"I disagree," Harker said and looked ready to restate her position once again but Skinner jumped in.

 

"There's six of us."  Skinner looked at Jekyll and amended, "Well, six and a half.  Plus all of Nemo's men.  Surely, we can divide and conquer."

 

Nemo looked sharply at Skinner's painted face.  "You said the prison was massive.  How many do you think could take the place?"

 

"Well, like I said, the place was refitted but it's falling apart.  I bet a few well-placed blows from our friend Mr. Hyde would do more than proportional damage.  Might be a bit messy but I don't think it would be tricky."

 

"And what about the workers?" Harker said.  "Should we just leave them to die?"

 

"They're not being coerced." Nemo's tone was harsh.  "All of those we've interrogated have known full well what they've been doing.  They only care about being paid.  You said yourself that we cannot leave anyone with knowledge of the disease."

 

"And any of them could be the Prince," Skinner said.

 

Mrs. Harker frowned, clearly unhappy.  Perhaps to appease her, Sawyer said, "There are a lot of exits in the factory.  Most of the Prince's people are there for the pay, yeah, but that just makes them cowards.  You make a big enough ruckus, and I'd wager they'll race for the doors."

 

"We could use that, couldn't we?" Jekyll said.  "Maybe set up some of Nemo's men at strategic points and round them up.  I know we haven't had any luck on that score so far, but this is likely the Prince's primary factory.  Sawyer followed one of his men to a drop-off point.  They may know more than the others we've caught."

 

Taking his hat off to rub his forehead and incidentally removing some of the white paint, Skinner said, "It would take a substantial number but it's doable."

 

"I'd still like someone to look the abbey over."  Harker remained stubborn.  "It may be that there is nothing worthwhile there but we cannot take that chance.  This disease is too deadly, and I for one do not want any more deaths on my conscious."

 

There was silence for a long few seconds.  Awkwardly, Jekyll cleared his throat.  "Hyde should be able to break open the doors, even if they are sealed.  It shouldn't be a problem."

 

"We'd need Hyde to take down the prison too," Sawyer said.

 

Nemo nodded.  "Like I said, explosives are not a problem.  But we will need Hyde to be able to evaluate the situation on the ground when we attack the factory."

 

"Hyde and I should lead the attack at the factory," Harker said.  "Neither of us is susceptible to the disease.  We would be safe.  Skinner can show Nemo and his men where to set up at the exits.  Sawyer already knows the abbey and its exits.  He can search for the laboratory or the Prince's notes.  Surely, that is enough."

 

Sawyer didn't look quite as taken with the idea.  "Yeah, except I have no idea what I'd be looking for.  I don't read Italian."

 

"I do."

 

As one, everyone turned to Allan.  He'd set himself against the wall and watched the debate without offering anything of his own thoughts.  It hadn't seemed necessary.  The idea of Sawyer on his own stirred him from his silence though, but he did not examine why.

 

"You do?" Skinner's tone was surprised.

 

"A second language was mandatory at Eton," Allan said.

 

Harker seized this news and said, "Excellent.  Sawyer should have backup and Mr. Quatermain hasn't had an opportunity for active engagement since . . . well, this would be an excellent way to get his toes back into the business."

 

This was apparently agreeable to everyone.  Sawyer's eyes flickered to Allan more than once but he did not raise any more objections.  Nemo summoned one of his men to get Sawyer the necessary explosives and to provide basic instruction in their use.

 

Allan took the opportunity to return to his room to grab his pistols and extra ammunition.  He then headed to the exit and waited for Sawyer to reappear.

 

******

 

They wasted no time grabbing a horse-drawn cart and heading towards the abbey, the explosives secured in the wagon.  Settled in the seat beside Sawyer, Allan barely noted the passing scenery.  Sawyer was driving the horses, and it was all too easy for Allan to once again let the numbness take hold of him.

 

The silence lasted two minutes.

 

"So, Skinner said you were back and I didn't believe him.  Last I saw, you were pretty dead.  We hauled your corpse all the way back to Africa.  It's been two years but here you are.  What happened?"  Sawyer glanced at Allan out of the corner of his eye.

 

This was not the first time Allan had had to tell this story.  He was perfectly indifferent about the whole thing, but he did have to will himself to the effort of responding.  It felt hollow and empty to him.

 

"Africa was not finished with me.  A shaman called me back to life.  I suppose that such things cannot be rushed."  A literal lifetime ago, Allan would have said that with the inflection of dry amusement.  Right now, his tone was flat and lifeless.

 

It did not go unnoticed by Sawyer.  "You seem different.  You _sound_ different.  And you didn't say anything during the briefing.  Is . . . is everything alright?"

 

"Alright?" Allan turned the idea over in his head.  "I don't suppose anything could be 'alright' in such a situation.  Death should be final.  Whatever her needs, Africa did not consult with me as to my willingness to be recalled.  So, yes, you could say I am different."

 

Sawyer was quiet for a long minute.  The horses continued to plod along and the sleepy port-town quickly fell away to an unmarked road.  "I reckon that makes sense.  Once you've been to the other side, well, you wouldn't be the same, would you?  Do you remember anything about being dead?"

 

"No."

 

Allan did not elaborate further.  Glancing his way, Sawyer took the hint.  "Well, do you know what Africa wants with you?  Is it the man-made plague we've been dealing with?  It's awful stuff, I can tell you.  Playing with stuff like that . . . I can see that being a big deal."

 

He didn't sound as confident as his words implied, and Allan guessed his hesitation.  Allan had only been with the League for a few weeks.  He had not seen the plague up close but he'd heard all about it.  Without his help, the League had mopped up two branches of the Prince's operation and appeared to now be within striking distance of its heart.  Allan had contributed nothing so far, and there was only the most theoretical danger in front of them.

 

Hardly worth upending the laws of nature for.

 

"I did not return to the League for the Prince and his machinations.  If there is some specific threat Africa desires me to combat, I was not informed of it."

 

Sawyer flashed a smile his way.  "So, you just couldn't get enough of us, eh?"

 

"No."

 

Allan's denial was firm and immediate, causing Sawyer to give him a surprised look.  There was a hint of something in his eyes that called to Allan.  Where before he'd let such statements go, he felt oddly compelled to explain himself.

 

It was the first time since his return that he'd felt this way.

 

Turning his eyes to the road in front of them, Allan said, "You have noted that I am different.  You are not the first.  I am . . . not whole.  After my son's death, my life was sapped of its joy.  When Moriarty stabbed me, I was ready to go.  It was a good end.  We had accomplished what we'd set out to do and I had had a long life."  _And you were safe_.  Allan shook his head slightly at the odd thought.  "I was at peace.  I am _not_ at peace with this new chapter in my life.  If you can call it a life."

 

For the first time, emotion crept into Allan's voice.  The bitterness was quiet but it was there.  Glancing at him, Sawyer frowned.  He was a smart lad and his tone was cautious when he said, "Something I should know?"

 

Allan did not say anything for a long while.  The horses took them further and further into the rural country outside the port-town.  In the distance, Allan could make out the lights of the village to the east.  The abbey was north of it while the prison was south.  Even in the darkening evening, Allan could see the scope of the town.  All those lives in danger.  A lifetime ago, that would have been enough to galvanize him.

 

Turning to Sawyer, he saw the young man looking his way.  Occasionally his eyes would flicker in front of him, but the horses seemed to know the way and he kept his attention on Allan.

 

Allan held out his hand.  Frowning, Sawyer didn't at first seem to understand and he offered the reins as if he thought Allan was asking to drive.  Instead, Allan took Sawyer's free hand and moved it to his neck.

 

"Do you feel me breathing?"

 

Sawyer's fingers were warm and surprisingly soft against Allan's throat.   He covered them with his own hand and felt them flutter slightly as they sought out some sign of life.

 

After giving him a proper moment of study, Allan gently firmed his grip on Sawyer's hand and pulled it down his chest to rest over his heart.  "Do you feel my heartbeat?"

 

Beneath his hand, Sawyer flattened his palm.  Allan kept his eyes locked on Sawyer's face.  He could see the surprise of his actions melt into a small frown.  Letting go, Allan allowed Sawyer to move his hand at will.  The young man shifted his hand back up to Allan's neck, placing two fingers there and looking for his pulse.

 

It was a long minute before Sawyer understood there was no pulse.  There was no breath.  "That's why you sound so funny.  You're . . . Are you still dead?  Are you . . . undead?"

 

Allan could see the blood drain from Sawyer's face.  He watched it with the same detached air that he'd watched everyone who learned about his rebirth and the exact nature it had taken.

 

"I am not undead as the pulp trades would have it.  I think it would be more accurate to say that I am halfway in between.  I am not dead but I am not wholly alive.  Not yet.  Perhaps not ever."

 

Finally, Sawyer withdrew his hand.  He did not flinch back as if burned, which Allan appreciated.  His frown was thoughtful and concerned but not afraid.  "What does that mean?  Are you back just as long as Africa has a use for you and then you're dead again?"

 

His tone took on an outraged tenor, which contrasted to Allan's indifferent one.  "Perhaps, when all is said and done, that will be how it ends up.  I do not think that was the intention though.  All I can say is that I cannot exist forever in this in-between state."

 

"And is there nothing you can do to become fully alive?" Sawyer's look was once again full of concern and sympathy.

 

"Of course.  It was never intended that I should only come back halfway."

 

Sawyer brightened instantly at this news.  "That's great.  What do you need?  Is there something I can do to help?"

 

"To return to life?" Sawyer nodded.  He looked so young to Allan at that moment - young and untouched by the tragedy, bitterness, and weariness that had marked Allan's own life.  Allan said, "You seem to be under the impression that living is what I want."

 

If Allan could feel anything, he thought he would feel regretful for the way Sawyer's eager expression immediately fell.  "You mean you don't?"  He sounded oddly hurt.

 

Allan looked forward again.  "I was tired.  I remember that.  So tired.  Over and over again, it was always the same thing.  Endless and relentless.  But I'd done my part.  I told you, I was at peace.  It was my time.  And now I'm supposed to just keep going on?  No, I don't see any point in that.  There's no reason for me to return."

 

"Don't say that.  We need you.  We'll always need you."  Sawyer's words were no doubt meant to sound encouraging but to Allan's ears, they sounded like a threat.

 

Turning back, he gave Sawyer a sharp look.  "You do not."  His tone was stern, dormant passion momentarily stoked.  It cooled quickly enough though, and Allan continued on with his usual detached calm.  "I have been gone for two years and you have done just fine.  Nemo briefed me on the number of cases you have closed since my death.  The League has done a lot of good.  But you did so without me.  You do not need me.  There is no point in my being here."

 

"I disagree."  Sawyer's voice was low and urgent.  He looked oddly invested in swaying Allan's mind away from its current conviction.  "You have experience and training that no one else in the League has.  You're the best shot in the world.  There were lots of times these last few years where we really could've used you."

 

"Nemo has experience and training too.  For all that you waste bullets like they grow on trees, you do hit your targets eventually.  And I hope you've taken some of my lessons to heart.  Harker, Skinner, and Hyde all boast abilities well beyond my meager assets.  No, there is nothing essential that I bring to the table -- nothing that cannot be duplicated."

 

"The world is full of new threats.  We need every gun we can get," Sawyer argued.  "We do need you.  We can't wait for some green horns to be trained up."

 

Allan wondered if Sawyer realized the irony of his words.  His whole being bled youthful intensity, and Allan felt so very old.

 

"There will always be danger.  Just as it produces new threats, the world breeds new heroes.  New blood replaces the old.  I have taught you what I know, and you have proven yourself capable of the responsibility.  When the time comes, you will pass the torch on and you will understand what I feel.  My time is over.  I shouldn't be here."

 

"Yeah, but . . ." Sawyer glanced at the road, appearing indecisive for a half-moment.  When he turned back, he said, "I don't want to lose you again.  I've missed you."

 

His tone was sad, eyes open with emotion.  Allan could read the sincerity there, and there was an odd warmth in his chest. 

 

But the rest of him remained cold and unmoved.  Sawyer held his eyes for a long moment, searching for something.  Eventually, his shoulders slumped and he turned back fully to the task of driving the horses.

 

They spent the remainder of the journey in silence, but Sawyer's words remained at the forefront of Allan's mind.

 

******

 

When they turned a corner, Allan could finally see the abbey in the distance.  A single overgrown road cut a path through a row of empty fields.  There was no other structure nearby, giving the nuns or monks that used to be housed in the abbey all the quiet and privacy they needed for their devotions.

 

The horses plodded along.  As they drew nearer, Allan realized that what he had thought was a single three-towered structure was actually two buildings.  The abbey rose up behind a cathedral.  Allan began to get an appreciation for the scale of the buildings as they got even closer.  He'd thought the cathedral was small but that was only in comparison to the abbey, which looked as if it could house a thousand souls easily.  The cathedral appeared to be an appropriate size to support the abbey.

 

Sawyer turned the cart off the road when they reached the cathedral.  Up close, Allan could see that the windows were covered in tarps and boarded up.  Piles of wooden beams and forgotten tools gave the impression that the place was under renovation but the remnants of that attempt were scattered and decaying.  Whatever had been planned to fix the place up had long since been abandoned.

 

Jumping out of the cart, Sawyer unhitched the horses and led them to a post to secure them.  Allan took out the explosives from the cart and waited for Sawyer to show him where to go.

 

"It's this way," Sawyer said.  He led the way around the rear of the cathedral and towards the abbey.  Allan saw that the abbey was further from the cathedral than he'd first thought, and they were soon swallowed up in its shadow.  The abbey was castellated with two tall towers at the front and rear of the main structure.  A towering wall surrounded the entire complex.  As Allan got closer, he could see it was plated in iron and appeared quite thick.

 

"I've been around the entire thing." Sawyer motioned for Allan to follow him along the outside of the abbey.  "There's a main gate that way.  It's sealed and bolted, and the doors are huge.  I did find a small service door over here.  I think we'll have better luck getting it open than the main entrance."

 

Allan nodded and followed Sawyer to the aforementioned door.  It too was made of iron.  Looking at the seams of the frame, Allan could see that it was welded into place.  Quickly, the two men set up the explosives along these seams.

 

"If there is anyone in there, we'll be letting them know we're coming," Sawyer said.

 

"Can't be helped.  Nemo and the others will be attacking the factory shortly.  There isn't time to try to scale the walls."  Allan glanced up to see how high the wall was.  No ordinary ladder was going to get them close to the top, and he didn't see anywhere to secure a rope.  "We'll just have to be vigilant."

 

They attached the detonation cord, walked away a safe distance, and triggered the explosives.  Allan had seen bigger blasts but this one sounded especially loud in the quiet countryside.  They waited a moment but there was still no sign that anything was alive within the abbey. 

 

It still took some prying to get the door loose, but they were soon inside.  "Whew, what a smell," Sawyer said.  Allan would have to take his word for it.  He wasn't breathing so he didn't inhale any scents.  He could see the way their entrance disturbed the air, and he remembered opening enough sealed places to know what stale air smelled like.

 

Slowly, they began to sweep the building.  Allan kept slightly behind Sawyer, keeping him in view and protecting his back.

 

The door they entered through opened up into a long corridor.  On either side was a courtyard.  The main building of the abbey loomed up over them.  Allan remained tense, waiting for some sign that their conspicuous entrance had been noted.  Everything remained still.

 

As they opened the door into the abbey proper, the light they let in showed a place of decay and neglect.  Cobwebs clung to every surface.  Sawyer sneezed more than once as they unsettled the thick layer of dust.  It looked like nothing had been in this abbey for decades.

 

Sawyer opened the first door they came to, which revealed a storage closet.  A dozen doors later showed much the same thing.  Decaying rooms filled with the expected books and supplies of an abbey.

 

Working their way further and further inside, both men relaxed a bit.  Their weapons were still up and ready for use but there was no sign whatsoever of any life.  It looked like they would be left alone to search the building at their leisure.

 

Coming out into a wide foyer, they finally found the main entrance to the abbey itself.  The gates above them were indeed huge, and Allan could see why Sawyer opted not to try to open them.  The main entrance hall was equally large in scope.  A ring of walkways encircled the walls above them and an enormous fireplace faced the gate.  A painting hung above the fireplace, looking conspicuously small for the space.

 

"Hey." Sawyer stopped when he saw it.  "That's the Prince's crest.  He stamped it on all the boxes his people used to store the plague."

 

Allan gave the small painting a second look.  It showed a golden foot crushing a snake whose fangs were embedded in the heel of the foot.  The crest was set against a blue background, which appeared faded and grayed with age.  Beneath it was the motto _Nemo me impune lacessit_. 

 

"You think this is the Prince's place?" Sawyer asked.

 

"Or he stole the emblem here.  Either way, that certainly ties this place to him."

 

Sawyer looked around.  "The whole place looks abandoned.  If it was his place, I don't think it is anymore."

 

"We shall find out."  Allan gave the painting no more thought, heading to the nearest exit.

 

It was a half an hour of slow, steady searching that yielded them a result.  Now further into the abbey itself, they came to another large chamber.  It looked like the entrance to the inner sanctum of the abbey.

 

Tensing, Sawyer said, "I think I see light."

 

Allan looked in the direction Sawyer was facing and saw a faint blue glow.  He met Sawyer's eyes and raised his own weapon.  Once again on alert, they cautiously moved through a set of double doors to see what lay beyond.

 

A small corridor led to another set of doors, one of which was slightly ajar.  The blue light came from beyond that.  Sawyer reached out to open the door but found it stuck.  He had to holster his weapon and use both hands to pull it loose.  Allan kept his gun trained on the door.

 

With a hard tug, the door finally snapped open.  Sawyer almost tripped at the sudden loss of resistance.  He stumbled back, which was well because the sudden release of the door was partly caused by a mass of something wedged up against it.  That mass turned out to be a pile of skeletons.  They tumbled out into the corridor, one skull popping loose and rolling down the hallway.

 

Sawyer covered his nose, so Allan assumed they'd freed more stale air too.  After giving a cursory look to see if anything was going to follow the skeletons and seeing nothing, Allan examined the dead.

 

"They appear to have been partying," Sawyer said, also looking the skeletons over.  Their movement had made them just a pile of bones wrapped in fabric but the fabric was rich and bejeweled.  It was faded and the fashion dated too, again suggesting that whatever had happened had occurred a long time ago.

 

"There's blood." Allan used the barrel of his gun to nudge the fabric out of the way.  At first glance, it looked like all the fabric was a brown-red in color.  When he moved it, he saw some of the original color.

 

"Harker said the plague victims sweated blood so it would make sense they'd be covered in it." Sawyer made a face, clearly not liking the idea.

 

Allan again glanced into the room before them.  The blue light was stronger here, but he couldn't see its source.  The walls of the room were also blue.  It might've been a very vibrant shade at one point, but that point was well in the past now.

 

Allan said, "I would wager this was the first test of the plague."  He cautiously stepped over the heap of skeletons to investigate further.  He did not immediately see an exit.  The whole floor was covered with skeletons.  Interspersed among them were strange devices, gaming tables, cages with the skeletons of dead animals, and just the general atmosphere of an ancient carnival.

 

"Must've been one hell of a party." Sawyer slowly followed Allan, also scanning the room.

 

Allan nodded.  "These people must have been lured here by the party.  Then the plague was unleashed and they were shut in."

 

As he walked further into the room, Allan found that there actually was an exit.  There was a bend in the room that hid it from view.  The bend also hid a large stained glass window.  The window was blue in color and beyond that was a flickering fire.  It was here that the glow originated.

 

"Do you really think a fire could still be going after all these years?" Sawyer asked.  He brought his gun up again, his own answer clearly a 'no'.  Allan did not verbalize his agreement.  He tightened his grip on his gun and peered closely into the window but there was no movement.

 

With nothing else to look at, they stepped through the hidden entrance into the next room.  This room was similar to the first one except that it was purple in color and instead of carnival novelties, the theme seemed to be more in line with a den of iniquities.  Human sized cages hung from the ceiling but the latches did not look imposing enough to be truly intent on keeping the prisoner inside.  Allan had seen such things before with dancing prostitutes.  There was plenty of room for that.

 

"Poor bastard." Sawyer's mumble had Allan looking in his direction.  He too was looking at one of the cages.  There was a naked skeleton inside.  Allan realized that Sawyer had never heard of dancing cages before.  For the first time since his return, Allan felt amusement and a warm fondness bubble up inside him.  He found Sawyer's naïveté to be quite charming, so he did not bother to correct his misconception.

 

Instead, his attention went beyond Sawyer to a purple stained glass window.  Walking to it, he said, "There must be a hallway beyond these rooms.  I think that is the same brazier that lit the other room.  The windows must be on either side of it."

 

"Be a nice way to peek in on the people without risking contamination."  Sawyer rapped his knuckles on the window.  "It's not all that thick.  I wonder why none of them thought to break it and escape."

 

"It's my understanding that the plague is very fast acting.  Harker said the disease could kill in as little as a half an hour.  And, if this was the first trial, the effects might have been even quicker," Allan said.  He joined Sawyer at the window and craned his neck.  "Besides, I'm not sure this hallway leads anywhere."

 

"They'd have to light it somehow," Sawyer said, but he also shrugged and turned his attention to finding another exit.

 

The purple room was also crooked but the exit was a little more easily seen.  It stood on the far wall in the corner.  Allan could just see the green color beyond it and wasn't surprised to find a green room next.

 

Beyond the green room was an orange one and then a white one followed by a violet room.  They found more of the same with each new room they entered.  The crook in each room hid the exit so the next room was a surprise.  Each had a stained glass window that matched the color of the room.  New perverse delights suggested a raucous and very un-abbey-like party.  And, everywhere there were piles of skeletons swathed in finery and covered in dried blood.

 

"I don't think that room looks all that inviting," Sawyer said as they looked around the violet room.  He was standing in the doorway to the next room.  Allan glanced at him from where he was standing by the large violet window.  He'd thought he saw a shadow but looking more closely, it looked like it might be a trick of the light.

 

Entering the last room, Sawyer said, "Black walls but the windows are red here.  That's really eerie.  Not too many skeletons.  Don't suppose too many people wanted to hang out in this room, not even for a debauched party.  Hey, look at the clock."

 

Used to Sawyer's running commentary, Allan only paid him half his attention.  He moved his head this way and that to see if he could see the shadow but there didn't appear to be anything.

 

He finally turned to the last room and saw Sawyer pivoting to look back at him.  "It looks like this is the last roo--"

 

Even as he spoke, there was a terrible whining noise and the floor vibrated beneath Allan's feet.  He'd barely felt it when an iron door slammed down between the violet and black rooms, effectively separating Allan from Sawyer.

 

"Sawyer!" he called, rushing to the door.  He slung his gun over his shoulder and searched for some way to open the door.  It appeared solid; there was no keyhole or handle.

 

"I'm okay." Sawyer's voice was muffled but strong.  There was a strange sensation in Allan's chest.  The muscles in his chest had contracted but he hadn't noticed until they began to ease back into place at the sound of Sawyer's voice.  Vaguely curious, Allan put his fingers to his neck and then laid his palm over his chest.  There was still no heartbeat, no breath.

 

Shaking off the oddity, he again turned his attention to the door.

 

"I think it's --" Once again, Sawyer's words were cut off.  There was a muffled thump like a body hitting the floor.

 

"Sawyer!" Chest muscles constricting again, Allan grabbed his gun and hit the butt against the door.  It was far too solid and chipped the wood of his gun.  He knew shooting it would be useless; the bullets would only ricochet and endanger him.  "Sawyer!"

 

There was no answer and Allan's chest tightened further.  Glancing around, Allan's eyes focused on the violet stained glass window.  There were usually two windows per brazier and the violet one should line up with the next room.  Aiming his gun, he fired two shots.

 

The glass was old and brittle but the lead cames kept it from completely shattering.  Again using the butt of his gun, Allan hit it several times to widen the bullet holes, and more of the window came tumbling down.  He yanked his scarf from around his neck and quickly tied it around his hand so he could grip the shattered glass panes without cutting himself.  It was the work of a quick minute to pull down most of the window but it felt like a lifetime.

 

"Sawyer!  Tom!  Damnit, Sawyer, answer me."

 

Still silence.  Allan stepped up into the window, careful not to place his hands on the bits of glass that littered the sill.

 

He jumped down to the other side, careful to maneuver around the large burning brazier.  Just as he thought, on the opposite wall was a large red window.  He reloaded his gun and fired two more shots.  This window appeared more brittle and came down in larger chunks.  A large piece hung precariously above him.  It had broken into a sharp point and swung slightly but did not fall.  The window was tall enough that a drop could cause serious injury but Allan could not reach it to dislodge it and he did not wish to waste any more bullets.

 

Carefully, he jumped up into the window frame and down the other side.  Thankfully, the pointed glass piece stayed where it was and Allan immediately forgot about it.

 

The room he jumped into was black and mostly empty.  There were a few skeletons in the center but not the heaps of bodies Allan had seen in the other rooms.  Certainly there was no sign of Sawyer.  The only object in this room was a giant clock.  It was painted black and looked very menacing.

 

What interested Allan was the fact that the clock had clearly been moved recently.  He could see it had not been fully restored to its earlier position.  Racing to it, he put his shoulder against it.  Instead of tumbling down, it swung away to reveal a hidden door.  Unfortunately, this door was like the one that had just stymied him: iron and thick.

 

Allan punched at it fruitlessly and then looked around for a catch or anything that would let him get through.  A thought struck him and he went back to the clock.  He saw that it was now at a minute past midnight.  He opened the glass door to gain access to the clock face and wound the minute hand back.

 

As he hoped, the door behind him swung back silently to reveal a set of steps leading down.  Allan wasted no time in dashing down them.

 

It immediately became difficult to see.  The eerie red light above him dimmed substantially until he had to navigate by the feel of the wall.  He bumped into a door at the bottom and feared it was another of the iron doors.  It felt the same to his hands as he searched blindly in the darkness.

 

Luckily, there was a handle and the door opened easily enough to a lighted room.

 

Allan's heart sank when he entered it.  The room was circular and appeared to be the center of a spoke with five tunnels radiating outward from this point.  Unlike the upper story, there was no dust or cobwebs -- nothing to disturb to indicate someone had passed this way.

 

All the tunnels looked exactly the same and there was no way to know which one Sawyer had been taken through.

 

******

 

If Allan were still breathing, he could well believe that the constricting pain in his chest would feel like being choked.  He'd methodically searched the lower level but it was a maze of tunnels and rooms.

 

There was more sign of life here.  Cut off from any outside light source, torches blazed merrily from wall sconces.  They lit every tunnel and appeared fresh enough.  Rooms were filled with newly bought supplies.  Allan finally found the laboratory Harker was interested in.  It did not look like it had been used very recently but certainly more recently than the dead skeletons in the colored rooms suggested.  Allan forced himself to spend a minute looking for a chemical formula, scientific journals, or even a sample of the plague.

 

He found none of those things.  The only thing he found were bills and purchase orders.  There was only one page that pertained to ingredients that might be used in the manufacturing of the plague, and Allan ripped it out of the ledger and pocketed it.  He didn't think it would be useful but he'd leave that to others to decide.

 

Quickly scanning all the bills and letters, one name kept popping up: Montresor.  It might be the name of their mysterious Prince.  At the very least, it would give them another avenue of investigation.

 

Allan felt that discharged his duty to the League, and turned his entire focus to finding Sawyer.

 

He searched for at least an hour, possibly much longer.  The abbey was huge and he met with a dead end or two that required him to backtrack.  He passed by stairs leading back up but hesitated to go that way just yet.  There had been no sign of life on the upper floors, though he and Sawyer had only just begun searching there.  Down on this level, it was clear someone was still using this abbey.  Allan felt he had a better chance of finding Sawyer here.

 

There was nothing though.

 

Allan felt the ticking clock.  His whole body was tense but especially his chest.  Too much time had passed.  Whoever had Sawyer could be doing anything to him.  Allan's only hope was that Sawyer had been taken when it would have been just as easy to kill him outright.  Surely, that meant his kidnapper had a use for him.

 

Unfortunately, Allan knew that this particular madman's tastes ran towards the sadistic.  It was evident in the party he'd planned for the guests upstairs and in the plague itself.  Horrifying and perverse, and Allan just had to find Sawyer.

 

Finally his steps took him back upstairs.  He could find nothing on this level.

 

Gun cocked and ready, Allan continued his methodical sweep of the abbey.  His senses strained for any hint of Sawyer or whoever had taken him.

 

He did not know exactly where in the abbey the stairs he'd found took him.  There was nothing familiar here.  The rooms he passed were dirty and dusty.  The doors squealed with displeasure when he tried to open them.  It all looked abandoned and disused.

 

Allan cautiously entered into an empty room.  It appeared to be the head abbot's office.  It was octagonal in shape with two entrances on the ground level and a circular stairwell hugging the wall that led up to a third door.  In the middle of the room was a pedestal with a box on it.  Focused completely on finding Sawyer, Allan paid no mind to the pedestal.

 

Just as he passed it, there was another loud squeal and accompanying shiver to the floor.  An iron door like the one in the colored rooms slammed down.  Another loud bang behind him had him whirling around to see that the entrance he'd come through was similarly blocked.

 

One last pop right next to him made Allan flinch.  Smoke rising from the box drifted into the air and enveloped him.

 

"Tickle in your throat?" A voice coming from above had Allan looking up to the top of the stairs where a man was standing in the entrance there.  He was thin, wrapped in what looked like a death shroud and holding a large medical bag.  At first Allan thought there was something wrong with his face but realized he was wearing a mask that resembled the countenance of a stiffened corpse.

 

Behind the mask, the man said, "If you've come for my plague, I'm happy to show you the newest formula." He gestured towards the smoke wafting up from the box.  "It incapacitates almost immediately but the effects last twice as long.  I'm sure you will enjoy it."

 

Allan's eyes burned but otherwise there was no effect.  He did not doubt that the smoke would do exactly what the man thought it would do, at least to anyone else.  However, he was not breathing the smoke in and there was no pulse to pump the plague throughout his body anyway.

 

He was safe.

 

But he didn't want to chance anything either.  It was better not to talk and risk taking the smoke in.  Sawyer was still out there somewhere though, and Allan needed answers.  So, he aimed his gun at the masked man's leg and let his bullet speak for him.

 

He clearly surprised his adversary.  The masked man would not have shown himself so blatantly if he hadn't been sure his smoke would take Allan out.  His surprise was not lasting though.  Allan's shot had him stumbling back but he immediately turned and ran.

 

For his part, Allan was just as quick.  As soon as he'd fired, he was racing to the stairs and up to the second entrance.  There was a spot of blood on the doorframe but not as much as Allan would expect to see if his shot had been a clean through and through.  It must only be a graze.

 

It was not enough to slow his enemy down and Allan didn't stop either.  Not having to breathe, he did not get winded and he kept hot on the masked man's trail.

 

His adversary knew this building though.  He knew the blind turns and the maze of corridors.  More than once Allan could see him in the distance only to lose him at the last minute as he slipped into some nook or cranny that turned out to be a hidden door.

 

This was his only lead to Sawyer and that was all that was on Allan's mind.  Allan refused to lose him.

 

Paying no mind to his orientation, Allan was surprised to see the large fireplace facing the main gate of the abbey.  He almost didn't recognize it because the painting with the Prince's crest was missing.

 

But the walkways and the massive doors were unmistakable.  Allan spotted the masked man on the gallery on the other side of the hall and shouted, "Montresor!"

 

The man hesitated, telegraphing to Allan that his true name was indeed Montresor and this was the Prince.  Allan's gun was up and ready even as he yelled.  His warning shot had not slowed Montresor down so this shot was straight for the shoulder.

 

The blow of the hit caused Montresor to stagger but he did not lose his step.  Allan could hear Montresor's labored breathing and he hoped between that and blood loss, he would eventually catch the man.

 

Montresor made a straight shot for the colored rooms.  Now that Allan had his bearings, he thought he could see Montresor's plan.  He would make for the black room and the hidden stairwell.  Montresor could not know that Allan had found the stairwell but even if he had, so long as Montresor could keep far enough ahead to make it down one of the tunnels at the bottom, he would effectively get away.

 

Allan knew the layout now though.  Keeping Montresor in sight, he raced through the colored rooms with sure knowledge.  However, instead of heading for the doorway into the black room, Allan ran to the violet window.  With a quick jump through the two windows, he finally caught up to the Prince.

 

Montresor had just reached the clock.  Rather than shoot him once more and possibly kill him, Allan threw his gun to knock his legs out from under him.  It didn't quite work as he hoped as the gun did not hit Montresor exactly but it did end up tripping up, which did the job.

 

Allan finally grabbed Montresor's shroud.  Montresor struggled in his hold, trying to get loose.  It wasn't until Allan slammed him into the broken windowsill that the man finally stopped trying to get away.

 

"How did you get away?  My plague was perfect.  No one could survive it," Montresor said.  When they were struggling, his mask had slipped loose.  Allan now looked at a very pathetic figure.  Montresor was an old man with wispy gray hair and a thin face.  With his bulging eyes and ruddy complexion, he looked every bit the madman.

 

Ignoring his ravings, Allan slammed him once more against the windowsill and demanded, "Where is Sawyer?"

 

Montresor frowned and then offered a skeletal smile.  "Is that your young man?  He's not dead.  Not yet."  Clearly seeing his advantage, Montresor no longer struggled.

 

Allan was in no mood for games.  "Where is he?"

 

"I've thrown him down in the dark where no one can hear him scream.  My first sin was never discovered, and this one won't be either.  You can search forever and you will never find your young man.  Only I can find him."

 

Pressing on Montresor's shoulder wound, Allan said, "Tell me how to find him."

 

Montresor's face twisted in pain and rage.  "You think you can threaten me?  I am immortal!  My curse sustains me."

 

Allan had no patience for lunacy, and it was quite clear this man was mad.  But he was sane enough to develop a devastating plague, plan its manufacture and distribution, and hide Sawyer away.  He could lead Allan to Sawyer.

 

Sneering, Allan leaned down to put his face close to Montresor's.  "Immortal, huh?  I've met an immortal or two in my time.  You're not in that league.  You're as common as they come."

 

Montresor growled and tried to move forward.  Leaning back, Allan tightened his grip to make sure his prisoner remained immobile.  Montresor whined in impotent rage.  "How did you escape my gas?  It's not possible."

 

"Your mind is too small to handle the likes of me," Allan said.  The clock ticking in the back of his head beat a steady drum.  He'd already spent too long looking for Sawyer and chasing this fool down.  Allan did not like that Montresor was here and not with Sawyer.  It did not bode well for his young friend.

 

"You speak of immortality.  That is a subject I know well.  I will find Sawyer, with or without your help.  I have all the time in the world," Allan said.  Once more, he pressed down on the shoulder wound.  "But I promise it will not go well for you if you will not help."

 

Montresor growled and his expression turned savage.  "All the time in the world?  You have no time at all!  Your young man sits alone in the dark; voiceless, sightless, helpless.  Tear this place apart brick by brick and you _might_ find him, but you will not have that chance."

 

Even as he was speaking, a far-off explosion echoed through the abbey.  Allan could feel the vibration through his shoes.  Montresor grinned in triumph, saying, "My sin will remain buried.  And your young man will join him!"

 

Another blast, closer this time, disturbed the huge black tapestries covering the walls.  It was followed by a third explosion and then a fourth, all in rapid succession.

 

The whole room shook.  It was not enough to threaten Allan's footing but it was enough to dislodge the sharp piece of glass that still hung at the top of the window.  Allan had forgotten all about it, but now it fell like a guillotine blade, straight for Montresor's throat.

 

There was no time to do anything.  Allan watched in horror as Montresor was beheaded, and the only lead to Sawyer's whereabouts died in front of his eyes.

 

He could not waste any time in futile anger.  More explosions were going off, and Allan knew Montresor intended to take the whole building down.  There were secrets in this abbey, secrets Montresor had no intention of revealing to the world.

 

Frustrated and afraid for Sawyer, Allan looked around and spotted the medical bag Montresor had been carrying.  He'd kept hold of it during the entire chase when it would have been easier to drop it.  Hoping there was something valuable in there, Allan grabbed it and then raced back the way he came.

 

The only logical course of action in locating Sawyer was to go back to the abbot's office where he first saw Montresor and see if there was anything there that hinted at where Montresor had come from.

 

But Allan soon found his way blocked by flames.  The explosions had stopped but fire was quickly engulfing the inside.  Allan tried several routes but kept being pushed back to the foyer.

 

He had a choice to make.  Pressing a hand to his throat, he felt again the lack of a heartbeat.  His status as not quite alive had protected him against Montresor's deadly gas.  It would protect him against the noxious smoke of the fire but not against the flames themselves.  He did not know what it would do to him but he doubted he would come through unscathed.  While he did not particularly care if he died or was hurt, he knew he would be no good to Sawyer in either case.

 

If there was a legitimate destination to brave the flames for, he would try it.  But he'd already searched everywhere and come up with nothing.  Where else could he look?  Where could Sawyer be?

 

The pain in his chest was sharp and brutal as he hesitated just in front of the corridor leading to the service exit.  Sawyer was somewhere in this abbey but between him and Allan was a wall of fire.

 

Feeling his guts twist, Allan turned and ran outside.

 

******

 

It was full night now and the fire engulfing the abbey was still more contained inside than out.  Still, it cast an eerie light over the surrounding countryside.  It reminded Allan of the black room with the menacing clock.

 

He backed up, trying to get a good look at what kind of damage there was.  The two towers were still standing and most of the windows appeared to still be intact towards the rear of the abbey.  Windows were blown out nearer to where Allan was standing and he could see flames licking out from a few of them.  Allan was sure that Montresor had set his explosives at crucial support points but it would take awhile for fire to bring down a structure of this size.

 

Allan still had a small window of time in which to do something.

 

Looking around, he saw the cathedral.  Allan remembered that it was under construction and considered for a moment grabbing some tools to open up a new way into the abbey.  He immediately discarded the idea though.  The wall was too thick and nothing needed to fix the cathedral would be enough to get through that.

 

The only thing he had was the medical bag he'd taken from Montresor.  Opening it up, Allan found everything Harker had sent them to find.  There was a box of carefully packaged vials that must have been the plague.  Thumbing through a few of the journals, Allan quickly scanned the formulas and data from previous tests.  He was sure that it was all very fascinating: something Harker and Jekyll could use to develop an antidote or cure.

 

It didn't help him now though.  Rifling through the bag, Allan did discover something odd.  There was a tiny book filled with newspaper clippings.  They were not from the major papers detailing the plagues in France and Spain.  They were not even recent.

 

Reading the first one, he found it to be from a tiny local Italian paper.  It was a small blurb about a missing nobleman named Fortunato.  The first article was not alarmed.  The man had gone missing during a carnival.  It was assumed he had either been enticed away or robbed.  However, he'd missed some important function and word was desired of his whereabouts.

 

Flipping through the book, Allan found dozens of articles about this Fortunato.  The book chronicled the events after his disappearance.  His family provided a reward.  Locals were interviewed.  False leads were reported and then discounted.  Allan half expected to find the book was leading to the eventual discovery of the man but the last article merely stated that the family was having him declared dead more than a year after the disappearance.

 

Fortunato was never found.

 

Allan remembered what Montresor said about his first sin and wondered if it had something to do with this Fortunato.  He didn't really care, not finding it at all relevant to Sawyer's current whereabouts.

 

There was one thing that caught his eye though.  Loose in the book was a letter from a sherry producer, thanking Montresor for his generous yearly purchase of a cask of amontillado and informing him that they were no longer producing that vintage.

 

It was such a strange thing to be carrying.  Allan understood Montresor keeping the information about his plague with him at all times.  He could even understand carrying a keepsake of his first kill.  But why keep a twenty year old letter about amontillado?

 

In a flash, Allan made a leap of logic and he raced to the cathedral. 

 

He hadn't really given it much thought before but he did wonder how Montresor had managed to get into the abbey.  The lower level had fresh supplies and looked fairly lived in.  It had to be more than just Montresor using a rope to climb over the wall, and Allan still trusted that Sawyer had thoroughly investigated the wall for any hidden entrances.

 

The letter about casks of amontillado reminded Allan of the catacombs that were sometimes beneath houses of worship in Italy.  Allan did not think they had catacombs like that in America.  It made sense that Sawyer would not consider the possibility.

 

Catacombs could stretch quite a ways down into the deep.  Casks of wine were often stored in them, which was why the amontillado made Allan think of them.  Montresor had said he'd thrown Sawyer somewhere deep.  Catacombs would be perfect for that.  If Sawyer was there, then he was away from the fire and there was still a shot that Allan could find him.

 

Reasoning that there was likely a catacomb stretching from the cathedral to the abbey or at least a tunnel that Montresor could use, Allan raced up the steps.  The doors were locked and barred.  Allan wasted no time rushing to a nearby pile of abandoned tools.  He picked a sledgehammer that looked to be in decent repair and then raced back to the doors.

 

The wood was old enough that only a few blows broke it open.  In anticipation that there might be more locked doors baring his way, Allan kept hold of the sledgehammer and raced inside.

 

It wasn't too difficult to find the hidden tunnel.  Montresor must have arrived soon after them or just before them.  He hadn't bothered to close the door all the way and he'd left the torches in the tunnel burning.  The light led Allan right to it.

 

He was right about the catacombs.  The formal crypt led to an iron gate.  Left ajar by Montresor, it opened up to a wall of bones and skulls.  They were neatly laid out in compact stacks, making for a macabre setting.

 

Allan shouldered his gun and took one of the torches from the wall.  He knew he was racing against time.  The abbey was steadily burning.  It was only a matter of time before those huge towers fell.  He wasn't entirely sure where the catacombs were in relation to the towers or just how deep they were.  He didn't know if the catacombs could hold the weight of something so big coming down in a crash or if they would collapse.  He didn't want to take any chances.

 

The tunnel between the cathedral and abbey ran straight.  When it opened up into a large space with vaulted ceilings, Allan figured he must be right under the abbey.  A wide staircase led up to the left.  It was covered in some kind of liquid, no doubt flammable in nature -- a parting gift from Montresor.

 

Allan went right.  More stacked bones made up the walls but the main floor was filled with shelving.  The yellowed jars suggested this was where the monks or Montresor used to store their perishables.

 

The shelving went on as far as Allan could immediately see, and it was surprisingly far before the last cubicle gave way to the wine rooms.  Amid stacks of bones, casks of wine stretched all the way into the shadows where there was no more firelight.

 

It looked daunting.

 

Tightening his hold on his small torch, Allan set off into the dark.  His light was feeble and he had to keep moving it from side to side to get a good look around him.  More ghoulish, grinning skulls amid orderly rows of bones greeted his every turn.  Neatly arranged racks of wine casks were set against the walls.  It would be very easy to get lost in here.

 

"Sawyer!  Tom!"

 

His voice echoed strangely and Allan stopped to listen, hoping for some sign of his companion.  There was still nothing, and the pain in Allan's chest increased.

 

He hated to admit it but Montresor could be right.  The abbey above him was huge.  It made sense that the catacombs beneath it would be extensive.  On his own, it could take months or maybe a year to search the place thoroughly.  Sawyer didn't have that long.

 

Allan couldn't even chance leaving to get help from the League.  He had no idea how the assault on the factory was going but it was on the other side of town.  With the fire raging above him, he could not risk wasting a second in his search.

 

Calling Sawyer's name periodically, Allan continued to make his way down further and further.  He was sure at this depth that even if the abbey did fall, it would not collapse this part of the catacombs.  That wasn't reassuring as Allan was fairly sure they'd be buried alive anyway.

 

He suspected that might be Montresor's plan.  Somewhere down here, he'd left Sawyer tied up to starve or suffocate.

 

Allan really hated that man.

 

He had no idea how long he searched before he saw the familiar blue painting.  He almost missed it as he continued his slow descent.  Despair was beginning to crawl up his spine and he was starting to entertain the thought that he really might never find Sawyer.  The notion sat heavily in his stomach, and he shied away from the idea whenever it popped up.

 

His firelight caught on the edges of the picture frame.  At first Allan thought it was just another painting like the one in the foyer.  He was sure a man like Montresor, who had the image stamped on all his correspondence, would have several.

 

But the image was faded in just the right spots and the frame chipped in a particular way.  Allan realized it was the exact same painting.  Montresor must have moved it, which meant he was here.

 

New hope flared through Allan, and he stepped up to examine the area around the painting.  There was a pile of bones set against the wall.  Unlike the orderly piles everywhere else, this was a messy heap.  Allan kicked them away and noted that the stonework of the wall was a different shade than the stone on either side of the arch.

 

Realizing what might have happened, Allan was suddenly very grateful that he'd kept the sledgehammer this whole time.  He carefully set the torch aside and called, "Sawyer!  Are you in there?"  He gave the wall several hearty blows before he'd made a hole big enough to see inside.

 

Grabbing the torch, he tried to peer inside.

 

Rather than the much anticipated face of his young companion, he found yet another skeleton.  The pressure in Allan's chest had eased momentarily but now squeezed back with a vengeance.  It was becoming distracting.

 

He pushed the sensation out of his mind and took a good long look at the little alcove he found.

 

The skeleton was old, older than the ones he'd found in the colored rooms.  There was some tattered fabric amid the bones that must have once been clothing but it was so old that much of it had disintegrated.  The dead man himself had been tied to the wall.  Now a skeleton, he'd slipped free of one of his bonds, but one arm bone still hung loosely in the other shackle.

 

A golden necklace was all that remained.  It was tarnished and dirty but the firelight managed to make out a large F on the medallion.

 

"Montresor's original sin: Fortunato," Allan murmured.

 

He backed away, feeling crushing disappointment once more.  Forcefully shaking it away, Allan took stock of the situation.  Now that Allan could see what Montresor had done to Fortunato, it brought light to what he might have done to Sawyer.  A man like Montresor would find it poetic to repeat his crime, especially if he'd gotten away with it once.  Allan had been looking for Sawyer to be tied up out in the open; he hadn't considered the possibility that Sawyer would be encased behind a wall.

 

The painting over Fortunato's 'grave' was the one from the abbey, which meant that Montresor had been here.  Allan had spent a lot of time looking for Sawyer in the abbey but not so much that Montresor could have taken Sawyer too much further and gotten back in time to trap Allan in the abbot's office.

 

"Sawyer!" Allan tried again, now expecting a much quieter response.  He walked a little further down into the catacombs but then backtracked.  Montresor could not have gone so far and walled someone up.  Allan must have passed Sawyer.

 

Now looking closely at the walls, it did not take long for Allan to zero in on another messy pile of bones propped up against virgin stonework.

 

"Sawyer?"

 

Allan had to press his ear right up to the stone before he heard a muffled something.

 

Swallowing down the hope bubbling inside, Allan said, "I'm coming.  Hold on."

 

His half-dozen sledgehammer swings did more than just make a hole.  The concrete Montresor had used was not fast acting and had not completely set yet.  The wall crumpled under Allan's blows.

 

There was a little bit of dust but when it cleared, Allan finally had the sight he'd been dying to see for hours how.

 

Sawyer was tied tightly to the wall, his hands stretched above him.  A gag was wedged in his mouth and his face was red with strain.  Allan could see he was having trouble breathing and he immediately undid the gag.

 

Coughing a few times, Sawyer took several deep heaving breaths.  Allan did not waste any time undoing the chain holding the other man up.  Sawyer crumpled as soon as he was released.  It was a tight fit but Allan moved as close as he dared while also making sure Sawyer had all the air he could want.

 

Allan gently stroked Sawyer's back, giving him a moment to recover.

 

Unexpectedly, Sawyer wrapped his arms around Allan's neck and hugged him tight.  "Thank you."  It came out in a croak.  "Thank you."

 

Feeling a burning sensation in his throat, Allan hugged back just as hard.  Sawyer was clearly shaken.  Allan could just imagine what it had been like for him.  If Sawyer had come to at any point before Montresor had tied him up, Allan was sure he would have gotten free.  So, Sawyer had either awoken tied up in the dark or in time to watch Montresor seal him up.  Either prospect was frightening, and Allan was well aware of how long it had taken to find Sawyer.  It must have felt twice that length waiting in the dark with no idea if anyone could find him.

 

"I knew you'd come.  I knew it," Sawyer said, finally easing away.

 

The sight of him -- dirty and sweaty and pale -- made Allan's chest tighten in a completely new way.

 

Flustered, he focused on helping free Sawyer completely of his restraints and getting him out of the hole.  "Come on.  We don't have much time."

 

"Why?  Is the Prince still out there?"  Sawyer's head whipped around anxiously, another sign of how unnerving his ordeal had been for him.

 

Putting a reassuring hand on Sawyer's shoulder, Allan waited until he had the other man's gaze.

 

"The Prince is a man named Montresor and he is quite dead now.  He can't hurt anyone anymore."  Sawyer searched his eyes for a long moment before Allan could feel the muscles under his hand relax.

 

"Good."  Sawyer took a slow shuddering breath.  "Good."

 

Squeezing Sawyer's shoulder, Allan let go and grabbed the torch.  "I'm afraid he did leave a parting gift though.  The abbey is on fire above us.  We must get out of here as quickly as possible."

 

Allan hated the way Sawyer tensed upon hearing his words.  He watched how the young man's eyes darted around them, and it was clear he was thinking that he'd only escaped one tomb for another.

 

Not if Allan had any say in the matter.

 

Allan gave Sawyer the torch and grabbed the sledgehammer again.  Both men then took off at a jog back towards the abbey.

 

As he still did not need to breathe, Allan gave Sawyer a quick summation of what he'd discovered.  He'd left Montresor's bag of goodies in the cathedral where he was sure Harker would find it if the worst happened.  Allan explained what he'd pieced together about Fortunato's death.

 

"He told me about that," Sawyer said.  He was a little breathless as they ran.  Being young and fit, he usually had no trouble talking and running but he'd been in a low-air environment for well over an hour.  He would need time to recover.  "When he was . . . sealing me up.  He told me about the man he'd done this to before and how no one had ever found him.  He said he had to do it because the man had wronged him but that the man had cursed him and now he was going to make the whole world feel his pain.  That was why he made the plague and why he was unleashing it."

 

"He was a madman of no consequence," Allan reassured.

 

Sawyer glanced his way.  "Are you sure he's dead?"

 

"I saw his head severed completely from his body.  Yes, he's very dead."

 

Nodding, Sawyer turned his attention back to their escape and didn't seem in the mood for more conversation.  It was just as well as there was a growing red glow in front of them.

 

As soon as they noticed it, the entire ground shook.  "That must be the front tower," Allan said.  "If the rear tower goes, I think the exit will be blocked."

 

Panic flashed through Sawyer's eyes but he immediately mastered it.  "Lead the way."

 

No longer conserving themselves, Allan raced at speed towards the red glow in the distance.  They soon found the shelving Allan had passed by earlier and the walls were still lit with wall torches.  Sawyer discarded the torch he was holding, as it was difficult to run at speed while holding a flaming brand.

 

Unfortunately, the red glow had not been solely from the wall torches.  Fire had found its way down to the catacombs.  It licked at the ceiling and was quickly spreading from cabinet to cabinet.

 

Sawyer pulled up his bandanna to cover his mouth and protect him from the smoke.  "Now what?"

 

"The only way is through.  There's a tunnel to the left.  It's our only way out."

 

There was a bit of a gap between the shelving units that allowed them a path through the flames.  Allan and Sawyer ducked down, their progress now slowed as they had to carefully pick through the flaming room.

 

Reaching back, Allan took Sawyer's hand to make sure they stayed together.  A popping noise behind them announced the moment the fire took its first cask of wine.  Allan could feel how Sawyer jumped when he heard it.  Squeezing his hand, Allan kept focused on finding a way out.

 

The flames became thicker the further they went, and Allan was sure they wouldn't escape without a few burns.  Those would heal though.  Allan just needed to get them out.

 

When they reached the stairs, Allan could see the whole thing was ablaze.  A thick wall of flames stood between them and the tunnel leading to the catacombs.  Worse, Allan could see that the flames had eaten away at the wooden support beams of the tunnel entrance and there was a partial collapse.

 

"Stay here."

 

"No!" Sawyer's refusal was instant and expected.

 

Allan turned and waved the sledgehammer he was still carrying in his free hand.  His arm felt like lead now from holding it so long but he was glad he still had it.  "I need to make a way through that.  Just give me a moment."

 

"You swing that thing, and the whole piece will come down.  We have to go together."

 

Allan hated it but Sawyer was right.  There was only one chance to get into the safety of the tunnel and it meant standing right in the flames.

 

Determined that it would last no more than a second, Allan nodded and let go of Sawyer's hand.  He got a good hold of the sledgehammer and raced to the tunnel.

 

His coat caught fire quickly but he was already readying a blow to the obstruction.  In the moment after he hit it, he crashed through with his body too.  Whatever was there dislodged under the momentum of both but he could feel debris falling on the back of his neck too.

 

Just as Sawyer surmised, the support strut came down and brought with it the rest of the wooden post holding up the entrance at this end of the tunnel.

 

Allan turned around, his chest once again a crushing weight of nerves.  To his relief, he found Sawyer dirty but right behind him.  He was patting out a few spots on his clothing that had caught fire.

 

Shrugging out of his coat, Allan threw it away before it did any damage to him.  The rest of him appeared unscathed.

 

"Are you alright?" Allan came up to check Sawyer over and make sure the answer was yes.

 

Sawyer gave him a shaky smile.  "Seem to be in one piece."

 

Reaching out, Allan was going to touch Sawyer's cheek but then there was a violent tremor that shook the whole tunnel.  It was much worse than anything Allan had felt so far and he realized that the entrance to the catacombs must be right under the rear tower.  That much weight would bring down the ceiling on top of them.

 

Allan did not bother grabbing anything but Sawyer's hand as he raced down the tunnel.  Dirt rained down on them and to Allan's horror the ceiling gave way just behind them.  He could feel it scraping against his ankles as he ran for his life.

 

The tunnel's collapse kept pace with them for a few meters.  Even when it stopped, Allan and Sawyer kept running.  It might have been awkward to run holding hands but they fell into step immediately.

 

Still needing to breathe, Sawyer panted loudly as he ran but he kept up with Allan the whole way.  Neither man stopped until they reached the gate.  Allan pushed Sawyer through and followed him up the stairs where they both finally felt safe enough to stop.

 

Sawyer collapsed, heaving in air.

 

Not needing to breathe, Allan only felt a vague stitch in his side but it was fading quickly.  He turned to look out one of the cathedral's large windows.  The abbey was burning in earnest, both towers now gone.

 

A laugh behind him had him whirling around.  Sawyer was dirty and shaky from exertion and smiling widely at Allan.  In response, there was a slight tugging sensation centered around Allan's heart.

 

"We made it!" Sawyer's laughter was incredulous and joyous at the same time.  It was pure release.  Allan remembered that feeling -- a giddy relief that flooded the body when there was finally a respite from exertion and sheer terror.

 

Unexpectedly, Sawyer launched himself to his feet and at Allan.  Allan grunted when the full weight of the young man hit him.  Sawyer threw his arms over Allan's shoulders again and offered him a hearty hug.  He was still laughing, body still shaking.

 

Hesitating only a moment, Allan brought his own arms up and hugged back just as hard.  It felt so good to have Sawyer here in his arms.  He'd had too long to think about all the horrible things that could be happening to Sawyer while he searched fruitlessly for him -- to think about failing and never knowing what his fate ultimately was.

 

To hold him like this was a balm Allan didn't think himself worth of.  He held on tightly all the same.

 

Sawyer leaned back so they could make eye contact but still remained within the circle of Allan's arms.  His smile was wide and infectious.  "I can't believe it.  No, I can.  I knew you'd find me.  I just knew it."

 

He was babbling, still high from adrenaline.  Perhaps that was the reason he then kissed Allan.  It was a quick but enthusiastic peck on the lips and no one seemed more surprised than Sawyer himself.

 

His expression morphed from shock to apprehension as he realized what he'd done.  He opened his mouth and Allan knew what was coming -- knew the stuttered apology and plea to forget it happened.

 

Allan wanted neither.

 

He didn't think about it.  On instinct, he let one hand slip into Sawyer's soft hair to get a good grip.  He used the leverage he had there to angle Sawyer correctly for a much better kiss.

 

Sawyer made a noise of surprise but then melted against Allan.  He was once again more enthusiasm than expertise but he yielded quickly to Allan, letting him direct the kiss.

 

The tugging in Allan's chest grew stronger and stronger until it was a rapid drumbeat.  He had to break away to gulp air into lungs starved of it.  His head was dizzy with the lack of oxygen.

 

Sawyer was also panting, equally engrossed in the kiss and not immediately realizing what had happened beyond that.

 

"I . . ." Sawyer took a deep a breath to calm himself down.  "I didn't realize . . ."  He licked his lips nervously and trailed off.  His eyes were big and hopeful when they met Allan's.

 

Taking a shuddering breath, Allan kissed him once more.  "I didn't either," he said simply when they parted once more.

 

Sawyer looked at him for a second before he once again smiled radiantly.  He didn't say anything though.  The adrenaline was wearing off.  Allan hadn't had to breathe or pump blood through his veins but his body still felt the hours of tension, carrying a heavy sledgehammer, and racing from one end of the abbey to the other.  He was really going to feel this tomorrow.

 

Even Sawyer, who was younger and fitter and just generally exuded energy, began to droop.  He rested his head against Allan's chest.  Allan was still strong enough to hold him up, and he reveled in being allowed to do that.  To feel Sawyer alive and whole and _his_ \-- there wasn't anything else in the world Allan needed.

 

"Wait." Sawyer stilled and then pressed his ear closer to Allan's chest.  He gave Allan a startled look, and then listened again.  "Is your heart beating?"

 

It appeared Sawyer was finally remembering what Allan had revealed on the way here and catching onto the fact that having a heartbeat was actually not usual for him at the moment.

 

Allan took a deep breath, letting Sawyer feel how it inflated the chest beneath his head.  When Sawyer's wide eyes met his gaze, Allan smiled.

 

Sawyer stood up straight and met Allan's gaze.  His expression was serious but cautiously hopeful.  "You said there was no point in you being here -- no point in living.  Have you . . . have you found a reason to live?"

 

Gently, Allan reached out and cupped Sawyer's face.  He looked into that youthful face that gazed at him with such fondness.  There was no question of Sawyer's interest, and it warmed Allan to be wanted like that.  It had been so long since he'd had someone to share his burdens with, but right from the start he'd felt comfortable opening up to him about his son and the pain he'd felt.  There wasn't anything he didn't think he could share with this young man.

 

A true partner.

 

"Yes."  Allan let his fingers slide against the skin of Sawyer's face.  "I think I have."

 

Sawyer responded with a smile of genuine gladness.  Reaching up with one hand, he laid it over the one on his face and turned to kiss Allan's palm.

 

Their mad dash for freedom was beginning to take its toll.  Sawyer only had the energy to convey himself with a contented expression.  He laid his head back against Allan's chest, and Allan held him close.

 

In a few minutes, they would have to grab Montresor's bag and head back to rendezvous with the others.  But, right now, Allan savored just being alive and with the man he loved.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> A/N #1 - Montresor comes from Edgar Allan Poe's _The Cask of Amontillado_. The abbey and plague are from his _The Masque of the Red Death_.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N #2 - I want to give a huge thank you to my beta for her wonderful suggestions. All remaining mistakes are mine.


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